


Broken

by ysar



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysar/pseuds/ysar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wasn't like the women in those movies.  You know, the ones you catch on the Lifetime network when you're channel surfing over a pint of ice cream at two in the morning?  Everything was perfect.  My grades were good, my college was paid for, and the future of my dreams was set.  Until it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> The deepest definition of youth is life as yet untouched by tragedy.  
> ~Alfred North Whitehead

I wasn't like the women in those movies.  You know, the ones you catch on the Lifetime network when you're channel surfing over a pint of ice cream at two in the morning?  I didn't get sucked in by grand gestures and lavish gifts.  I wasn't the poor, plain, ignored girl who'd magically attracted the attention of the most handsome man in town.  I wasn't so devoid of self-esteem that I just accepted whatever hell I got as something I deserved.  And he wasn't just an act, waiting, baiting me to fall for him so he could beat me and break me.  No, the guy I fell for was real.  He was sweet and considerate, he was funny and smart, and he was so roguishly beautiful that I couldn't stop staring at him long after the ‘honeymoon phase' was over.  I didn't fall for some charming façade only to learn that Mr. Right was actually Mr. Right Hook.  No, I was different.  He was different.  And that's what made what happened all the more difficult to accept.

We'd been friends first.  We'd known each other since our freshman year in high school when I was the new girl, and he was the guy I maimed with an errant pitch in P.E.  We walked to classes together and occasionally had lunch together.  I'd copy his physics notes, and he'd get my help with his English homework.  He even picked me up when the worst date of my life left me stranded downtown because I wouldn't put out after junior prom.  My date from hell just happened to suffer a broken nose that weekend, and I knew it was no coincidence.  After that, we continued to look out for each other.  He did the oil changes on my truck, and I helped him pick out the perfect Christmas present for his mom.  I even set him up with a girl he had a huge crush on in our biology class, and he constantly reminded me that the guys I went out with didn't deserve me.  It was a true friendship, and I honestly never thought it would be anything more.

It wasn't until our senior year that we found ourselves tangled up on his sofa, both having had too much to drink after making asses of ourselves at frat party we'd somehow talked our way into, and both a little depressed that the dating pool wasn't worth dipping a toe in.  I'm not sure who kissed who, but before I knew it, our lips were crushed together and we were breathing heavily, hoping his mom didn't come home soon.  I turned the most unflattering shade of red when he yanked my t-shirt up to my neck, and we both snapped out of our alcohol induced lust-haze immediately.  Well, not all the way out of it, but enough that we realized we were treading on dangerous ground.  He had apologized profusely, to the point that I finally laughed and begged him to forget about it.  But there was something about that kiss that neither of us could forget. 

A few weeks later, we were officially dating.  He'd bring me daisies and take me out to dinner.  He even saved up enough from his after-school job to take me to one of those five-star restaurants in Seattle at the end of the school year.   He said was it his combination graduation and anniversary present to me.  We'd been dating for six months.  And not once during those six months had he tried to pull my clothes off again.

In fact, he was so respectful when it came to physical boundaries that I eventually had to take the lead.  School had let out early one day, and we were alone in my room.  I got up the nerve to grab his hand and push it up under my shirt.  He happily got the point, and we'd spent several wonderful minutes making out until my dad got home and threatened to shoot him.   Dad's a cop, so we were pretty sure he had the resources and connections to make it look like a suicide. 

Dad kept pretty close tabs on us after that, sometimes sitting with us while we watched a movie in the living room, sometimes making not-so-subtle comments about how late it was getting, and never letting him anywhere near my bedroom again.  I finally had to sit Dad down for a very uncomfortable conversation about how I was eighteen, about to go to college, and mature enough to decide if or when I would have sex with my boyfriend.  Dad watched us suspiciously all summer, but he didn't give me any more trouble about it. 

Fall semester started and I moved into my first apartment.  Dad had offered to pay for a dorm (as long as it wasn't coed) or even buy me a new car so I'd have reliable transportation if I wanted to live at home and commute, but I insisted on my own place.  Besides, I loved my old truck, even if it was hideous and loud, and I didn't want to be a burden.  A small town cop's salary only stretches so far.  Luckily, I'd been saving every penny for years, ever since I was thirteen and got my first babysitting job.  So when it came time for college, I had enough financial footing that I could concentrate on my education and not worry about a part-time job.  But in the end, I got a full scholarship, so the money I'd saved was put to other uses...like my new apartment.

I rented a big, beautiful, three-bedroom place in the nicer part of town, and it was just a short walk from campus.  The largest bedroom was just off the living room, and I turned it into my own little library, outfitting it with a comfortable loveseat for curling up and reading as well as a large antique desk for studying.  The smallest bedroom had the worst view, overlooking an alley, so I made that into the guestroom, and over time it became my makeshift storage space as well.  It wasn't like I would be entertaining many overnight guests anyway, but it was good to have a second bed available just in case.  The middle-sized bedroom was down the hallway behind the kitchen and it overlooked the courtyard, so I made that my room.  It was connected to my library by an enormous bathroom, complete with one of those old fashioned claw-foot tubs.  A second bathroom was down the hall, and to top it off, I had a nice sized kitchen, a small wood-burning fireplace, and gorgeous hardwood floors.  And since mine was a corner unit, my balcony wrapped all the way around, with big glass doors opening up off the library, my bedroom, and the living room.  It was absolutely indulgent, and I loved it.

We talked about moving in together, but in the end we agreed a step like that should wait.  It was our first semester at college, our first time not living with our parents, and the first time we could truly make our own decisions.  One step at a time, we told ourselves.  It wasn't like we were ever really apart for every long anyway, but it was nice to have a place to call ‘only mine' at the end of the day.  I decorated according to my mood, filled my library with worn out copies of my favorite books, and spent hours whipping up pseudo gourmet meals in my kitchen.  

Things were so perfect, in fact, that he proposed over Christmas break.  So much for not rushing things.  I'd thought Dad was going to have a heart attack when he saw me peel the wrapping paper back to reveal what was clearly a ring box, but he'd managed to hold it together long enough for me to say yes.  We didn't want to get married right away anyhow.  Our engagement simply illustrated what we already knew; that we had forever in our grasp.  The truth was that we weren't even going to set a date until after we both had college degrees in hand.  Poor Dad looked heartbroken, insisting he would always see me as the clumsy little five year old who never did quite learn how to keep a bicycle upright. I knew that while he wanted me to be happy, my growing up wasn't easy for him.  But he took it in stride, congratulating us and awkwardly explaining the benefits of waiting several years before starting a family.

Everything was perfect.  My grades were good, my college was paid for, and the future of my dreams was set.  Until it wasn't.


	2. Paradise Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The mind is its own place, and in it self  
>  Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.  
> ** _**~John Milton** _

 

We were one month into the spring semester of our first year of college when it happened.  He called me at three in the morning, and he sounded devastated.  I could barely make out what he was saying.  His voice was broken by racking sobs, but I caught enough to throw on some clothes and rush uptown to the hospital.  His mother was hooked up to a million machines, clinging to life, and he was simply falling apart.  She was the only family he had, and they'd always been close.  She'd come to town for a short visit, and they'd gone out to dinner.  My study schedule had prevented me from joining them, but we were all going to meet for brunch the next day before her flight home.  He'd been behind the wheel, and there was nothing he could do to avoid the drunk driver weaving in and out of oncoming traffic.  His little car had been crushed, and he'd been unconscious for hours. But in the end, he walked away with only a pretty serious concussion and a lot of ugly cuts.  She didn't make it through surgery.

I didn't immediately notice when things started to change, but looking back, I'm pretty sure it was the moment I tried to hold his hand after the doctor gave him the bad news.  He'd pulled away from me like he'd been burned, and I'd assumed it was because he was suffering so much.   I worried about him, and I did my best to take care of him, but something more than his mother had died that night.

Over the next few weeks, his voice changed.  Whereas it had once been soft and comforting, it now had a hard, sharp edge to it.  The kinds of things he said changed, too.  For the first time, he'd lose control and start yelling at me, a kind of wall-shaking roar that had me trembling with an unfamiliar fear.  No longer did he ask about my day or tell me about his.  And he never laughed anymore either.  So much of the man I'd fallen in love with had disappeared behind a thick wall of pain and guilt.  I tried to be understanding and accepting.  Everyone deals with grief differently, right?  I knew my future husband was still in there somewhere.  He just needed time to find his way back to the surface, back to me.  What kind of person would I be to turn away the person I loved the most when he most needed me?

But time only seemed to make it worse.  Despite all my efforts to help him, his grades dipped frighteningly low, and instead of putting any effort into it, he dropped out.  Dropping out meant he couldn't stay in the dorms anymore, either, so I did what any good fiancée would do.  I let him move in with me.  He was supposed to get a job and get himself together so he would reapply next semester.  He was supposed to buy his own groceries and sleep in the guest room.  He was supposed to see a grief therapist and work on getting his life back together.  He wasn't supposed to hurt me.

The first time was an accident.  I believed it then, and to be perfectly honest, I still believe that.  He was yelling, and I was yelling back.  I'd had enough, and I wasn't going to let him go off on me anymore over things that weren't my fault.  In my anger, I shoved him hard, pushing him out of my way as I stepped toward the door to leave.  He reacted, reaching for my arm and gripping just a bit too tight.  The second I winced, the moment he saw the shock and fear in my eyes, he let go.  He muttered an apology, grabbed his keys, and left.  Some people would say that only he was in the wrong, but I don't agree.  We'd both raised a hand to each other that night, and we were both equally to blame.  I ended up with a light bruise that was easily covered with a long-sleeved shirt.  In fact, it had completely disappeared by the time I next saw him.

He came back a week later, and we never spoke of it again.  What I didn't realize, though, was that a switch had flipped that night.  Although his initial reaction was to hate himself for scaring me, for causing me physical harm, something ugly was awakened, and it wasn't going to go away.  Before I knew it, he was criticizing my wardrobe, accusing me of flirting with other guys, and generally making my life miserable.  Sometimes he'd get so mad about little things, like dishes left in the sink or a towel left on the bathroom floor, and I'd find myself scurrying around in a cleaning frenzy, trying desperately to avoid his wrath.  He no longer sought to make me happy.  No, now he got off on trying to intimidate and control me.  I found myself yelling back, refusing to be the weak, cringing victim, and while it seemed to cut his tantrums short, it also seemed to make his next ones more frightening.

I tried to talk him into counseling, but he refused.  So I went alone.  My therapist was blunt, and he told me that despite our happy past, our relationship was toeing the line, hinging on abusive.  I took him seriously, mentally mapping out an escape plan in case things ever truly did get out of hand.  I didn't think it would ever come to that, but if he ever tried to hurt me or keep me against my will, I knew how to run, and I wouldn't be scared to do it. 

And then it happened.  I'd made a nice dinner, pathetically hoping our evening together would be equally nice.  But he didn't come home, and I finally gave up, making him a plate and sticking it in the fridge.  Maybe he could just eat it tomorrow while he was nursing his hangover.  I went to bed, disappointed as always.

 I was dead asleep when he crawled into bed with me, and it was in that hazy world somewhere between hopes and dreams that I found a temporary peace. He was going to cuddle with me like we used to, and it was with excitement and relief that I turned to kiss him.  My fiancé, the man I loved, the man with whom I would spend the rest of my life had crawled from his dark grief and returned to me.  But then I was hit by the stench of liquor, cigarettes, and what smelled like women's perfume.  I turned away and scooted over to the far side of the bed, angry with myself for assuming the best, and angry with him for deserting me so completely.  But something in him had snapped. 

In one quick second, he yanked me back to him and crawled on top of me, clutching the neckline of my oversized t-shirt and tearing the front of it wide open.  He straddled my waist, his full weight on my stomach making it difficult to breathe, and then I tasted blood.  His mouth ground into mine with a force I knew would leave my lips split, swollen, and bruised.  He grabbed my breasts roughly, pinching and squeezing hard enough to bring tears to my eyes as he shifted his weight to the side and with his other hand tried to pry my thighs apart.  We'd agreed to wait until we were married.  Once I admitted I was a virgin, he'd insisted that waiting would make it beautiful, give us that dream wedding night.  I had agreed, not because I wanted to wait, but because it seemed so important to him.  This, what was happening now, wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Something inside me snapped, too, and I began clawing at his face, kicking and screaming, fighting against him with everything I had.  I was already resigned to the fact that I was going to lose my virginity in an act of violence instead of giving it to him out of love, but that didn't mean I had to make it easy for him.  He struck me hard across the face with his half-closed fist, the heel of his palm smashing against my cheek, and his knuckles crashing into my eye.  I twisted my body, jerking from side to side, anything to get away from that probing hand, and he fell to the side in a drunken haze, my body still pinned beneath one leg and his heavy shoulder.  I shoved him away with all the strength I could muster, fueled mostly by adrenaline, and leapt over the footboard toward the door as he tumbled to the floor. 

I was down the hallway and part way through the living room, running toward the door when my feet were yanked out from under me.  It was so fast that I didn't even have time to try to break my fall, so I belly flopped onto the coffee table.  The glass shattered beneath me, slicing into my stomach.  He pulled roughly at my ankles dragging me backward through the broken glass as I dug my hands into the carpet, pulling with all my might to get away from him.  I was screaming in fear and pain, kicking against his rough grasp, my heel finally making contact with his ear.  He let out a load grunt, loosening his grip momentarily, and I jumped up, my head reeling from the sight and smell of all the blood.  I was frantically pulling at the front door locks, my nails breaking and tearing in my frenzied rush, while he stumbled toward me again.  I heard another crash as he presumably fell, but I didn't look back. 

I'd just released the last latch when the door launched inward, smashing me in the shoulder and knocking me off my feet.  I landed hard on my butt, gasping to replenish the oxygen that had been knocked from my lungs in the fall, and I let loose the loudest scream I could manage.  In the next second he was on top of me again, his hands wrapped around my throat as I choked, gasping helplessly for air.  As I clawed at his wrists and tried to twist my body away from him again, I felt a stabbing pressure in the side of my neck as his teeth tore into my skin.  And then it was gone.

The next several seconds were pure chaos, and I curled up in a pathetic ball, clamping my hands over my ears and squeezing my eyes shut tightly.  There was yelling and the sounds of things being smashed and shattered.  I heard a sickening crunch, a strangled shriek, and pained grunts.  There was shouting and cursing, and when a pair of small warm arms wrapped around my shoulders, I struggled to sit up, rearing back my fist.  I readied to swing a punch, to escape whoever was grabbing me now, only to find myself staring into soft gray eyes teared up with worry and kindness.


	3. Brave New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **It isn't for the moment you are struck that you need courage, but for the long uphill climb back to sanity and faith and security.  
> ** _**~Anne Morrow Lindbergh** _

**~Bella~**

**(Five years later)**

 

"Bella! Bella, I know you're in there!"

The pounding on the door was heavier now, and I wondered if the fists responsible for it were capable of breaking it down.  Probably.

"Bella! You can't hide from me!  Open this door right now!"

I turned the page in my book and tried to concentrate on the words.

"If you don't open this door in the next five seconds...!"

I groaned and got up from my comfy little loveseat.  "Fine!" I huffed.  I stomped through the living room and swung the door open, and the gust of wind that was Alice blew past me.

"Oh, please tell me you're not wearing that," she said, her eyes narrowing as she took in my ragged sweats and tank top.  I knew the stains were just killing her.

"Actually, I am," I said smugly.  "It's perfect for a nice quiet evening _in."_

" _In?_ But Bella, you promised," she whined.

"I did no such thing, Alice Brandon, and you know it."

"Well, you said ‘Maybe,' and we both know that translates to ‘Yes, absolutely.' So get dressed!  We're leaving in five minutes."  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.  I half expected her to call me "young lady" and threaten to take away my allowance.

Alice wanted to go to some hot new spot that had opened downtown.  They served huge drinks and tiny meals, a strange combination of jazz bar and elite restaurant, and apparently that was something worth standing in line for.  How I longed for a bucket of fried chicken. 

"But I don't have anything to wear," I said, hoping that excuse that might work with her. 

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically.  "Then it's a good thing you have me!"

I should have known better.  In the next second she was knee deep in my closet, clothes flying around her like a little human shaped tornado.  "Here!" she squealed, holding out a cute black dress triumphantly.

"But that's not---" I stopped short.  I'd been about to tell her it wasn't mine.  For a second, I thought the sneaky imp had somehow slipped a new dress past me.  But then I realized what it was.  It was the dress I bought to wear to that fancy little restaurant, the one James had first taken me to in high school.  When it came time to celebrate another chapter in our lives, I made  reservations months in advance, thinking I was being sweetly sentimental.  And here was my dress for that night, hanging there in its clear plastic bag.  The tags still hung from the side, the paper yellowed and the ink faded with time, telling the sad story of reservations that had never been fulfilled.

"What's wrong?" Alice asked, her tiny features scrunching up in concern.

"N-nothing," I stuttered, reaching for the dress.  "It's fine."

I knew she could tell it was anything but fine, but she knew me better than to pry.  In the years since that awful night that Alice and I first met, things like this occasionally happened.  Some place or some object would take me back in time for just a second, back to a time when James and I had everything together.  Then I would give myself a good mental shake, square my shoulders, and face it head on.  Tonight, I was facing this dress, and I was going to show it who was boss.

We missed our five minute deadline, but Alice didn't seem to mind.  She was determined to get me out in public, and nothing could dissuade her.  I endured her poking and pulling and prodding as long as I could, but when she pulled out the deep red lipstick, I begged for mercy.

"Oh, no, Alice.  That's enough," I laughed.

"What?" she said, feigning innocence. 

"Gloss for me, thanks."

"You're no fun, Bella," she pouted.

"No fun?  What do you call torturing me for the last half hour?"

She giggled and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door.  "Well come on then.  Jasper's waiting!"

* * *

I blinked several times, willing my eyes to adjust to the low lighting.  At first, I couldn't even tell if we were in a club or a closet, but as the host led us to a large u-shaped corner booth, I was able to make out a long bar along one wall and several small tables dotting the floor.  The only lighting was provided by clusters of candles at each table and strips of red neon lining the stage, bar, and walls.  There was a small stage housing a jazz band and an intimate dance floor just in front of it.  The place was brimming with couples and I felt a pang of envy that I quickly pushed down.  My single status was my own doing, not because what happened with James was my fault, but because of what had---or hadn't, as the case may be---happened since. 

I was glad Alice had insisted on dressing me up.   The club wasn't what I'd call fancy, but there was definitely a classy vibe going on.  The men were all wearing dress slacks and nice button-up shirts, and a few were sporting suit jackets.  The women were wearing everything from knee-length cocktail dresses to those slinky little dresses that can only be held in place with double-sided tape.  My little dress wasn't anywhere near as fancy (or revealing), but I didn't look bad.  It was knee length and sleeveless with a high scoop neck fitted bodice, a wide waist panel, and a slightly flared skirt.  I'd felt a little like a subdued version of Audrey Hepburn when I'd tried it on in that little boutique so many years ago. 

I'd dropped about fifteen pounds after James was... gone... mostly because I didn't feel like breathing, much less eating, but when I put the dress on tonight, I was pleased to see that I'd filled back out since then.  Well, maybe ‘filled out' wasn't the right term---genetics or just plain rotten luck had ensured I didn't quite do justice to anything that was meant to accentuate curves.  But at least I wasn't scary-thin anymore. 

It was cool out, so I paired it with a light cardigan that Alice simply shook her head at.  She tried to talk me into a nice wrap instead, but when I slipped the sweater down and pulled my hair to the side, she clapped her hands and declared that the sweater was the perfect touch.  Her eyes didn't even seem to register the scar, and I loved her even more for that.

Emmett slung one of his massive arms over my shoulder as we followed Alice and Jasper to our table.  Emmett insisted he needed one of the outer seats so we wouldn't have to move out of his way when he wanted to get a drink.  It was a poor excuse seeing as how we had a waiter offering to bring us anything we needed, but no one bothered to call him on it.  Clearly Emmett just wanted an easy out if he saw a hot girl, and from the looks of things, we weren't going to be seeing a lot of Emmett tonight.  I moved to slide in first, but Jasper slipped past me, scooting all the way to the back and pulling Alice into the seat beside him.  That left me in the awkward spot of having way too much booth for one person.  I sat down, keeping to the outside so as not to crowd them, but Alice motioned for me to slide closer to her.  She claimed it was so she could hear me over the music, but I had the feeling she was full of it.

"Isn't this place amazing?" Alice cooed.

"Amazing," I said, rolling my eyes dramatically.

"Oh, come on Bella.  Just try to have fun.  Emmett, do something funny."

Her demand elicited the strangest expression from Emmett, and Alice and I burst into giggles.

Emmett raised an eyebrow and looked at Jasper.  "Dude, they already hit the sauce, didn't they?"

His comment only served to make us laugh harder, and Emmett just shook his head at us.  Just then, I felt the seat shift beside me, and I turned to see someone had joined us.  It was usually Emmett and his sexy boyish grin that attracted uninvited guests, so I was surprised to see a pair of devilish green eyes staring into mine.  In no mood for poor pick up lines, I opened my mouth to tell him off when his lips curved into a sexy crooked smile, and he extended his hand to me.  Words failed me.

"You must be Bella," he said, his voice smooth and velvety.  Any other woman would have melted at the sound, and I very nearly did, but I had been subjected to enough of Alice's attempts to set me up that I knew better than to trust a first impression.  He probably had a foot fetish.  Or a wife.  Or a whole slew of STDs.  He was absolutely dazzling.  So he probably had all three.

 

 


	4. The Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life:  
>  it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.  
>  _~ George Eliot_**

**~Edward~**

It's a lot like the passenger pigeon. It was abundant at one time, long before I ever had a chance to know it. And then it was taken for granted and hunted down, wiped clear into extinction. The few that still have it will never let it go, or if they do, they will come to regret it. The rest of us look around, expecting and hoping to find it, but we never will. It simply doesn't exist anymore.

Like everyone else, I thought I found it in high school. It was my sophomore year, and she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. When she smiled at me, it was like no one else in the world existed. And before I knew it, I'd given her my suicidal heart. She loved me, too, I thought. But it wasn't enough. It never is.

She was a year ahead of me in school, but that didn't matter. We dated the rest of that year and then the next. We spent every afternoon, every weekend, and a few stolen nights together. We were the golden couple, always happy, always devoted, always together. She graduated, and then summer came. It wasn't summer that changed us; rather what it signaled. The end.

She was going to take a year off, stay home until I graduated, and then we would go to Harvard. No, she didn't have the grades or the connections to get in the way I would, but she would go to a smaller, less prestigious school nearby. We spent the summer swimming and hiking and planning our future together.

She wanted an education, too, although it was her dream to be a stay at home mom. We'd graduate from college, and then she would work while I pursued medical school. I didn't want her to carry all of the burden, so we agreed that she would do something part-time and fun while I completed my residency. And then I would go into private practice in order to provide a big house for the three children for whom we'd already picked out names. Yes, I thought I was in love. Yes, I know that was stupid. And yes, summer ended, taking my dreams with it.

I could tell something was different, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Her smile wasn't as bright, her laughter not as musical, her eyes not as deep as they had once been. It was a beautiful sunny day when she told me. She had been accepted to an art school in California, and she wanted to go. I was floored, shocked by her secret, shocked that she had done all this behind my back, but most of all shocked that when I offered to go with her, she refused. She wanted to see what else life had to offer. I told her I could offer her everything and more. She simply laughed.

She left, and I began my last year of high school. At first, I didn't care about my grades, didn't care about getting into college, and certainly didn't care about moving on. But my older brother took it upon himself to throw a party and get me drunk, saying I needed to lighten up and put myself out there. So I did, chasing after it again.

* * *

She was sitting by herself on the bottom step, simply watching the dancing and drinking and general debauchery that was going on all around us. I was stumbling around and hoping to end up in a bathroom where I could puke up my guts in private when I tripped over her, nearly breaking my nose as I crashed face first on the stairs. But instead of laughing or rolling her eyes, she tugged until I was on my unsteady feet again and patiently led me out the front door...where I heaved the contents of my stomach all over Mom's flower bed. And when I could finally stand up again without retching, she was waiting with a wet dishtowel and a glass of water.

We dated the rest of my senior year, and though I wanted forever with her, I knew better than to sit down and plan our wedding just yet. We spent every second we could together, whether studying or sneaking off campus together at lunch, and it seemed that every day she got more and more perfect. We were careful, though, not making promises or talking too much about what would come after I graduated. Still, I hoped she was in it for the long haul, and I foolishly bet my heart on it.

Three weeks into my first semester of college, it all came crashing down. She was supposed to fly out to see me the next weekend, and I could hardly wait. I missed her so much, and being away from her was killing me. I'd finagled some of Dad's frequent flyer miles to get her a ticket, talked my roommate into spending the weekend anywhere else but our apartment, and made reservations at the most expensive restaurant I could find. I had it all planned out, and it was going to be perfect. And then the phone rang.

I was about to leave to pick up some flowers before I met her at the airport, and I almost didn't answer it. But at the last second I wondered if maybe her plane had landed early or she was delayed on a layover, so I ran back into my room and answered. She wasn't on the plane. She wasn't coming.

It seemed her father had been worried about her having a long distance relationship with a college boy while she was still in high school. It didn't matter that I'd asked him before I bought her ticket. It didn't matter that we loved each other and I needed to see her. It didn't matter that we _belonged_ together. The only thing that mattered was her father's opinion and the fact that I may as well have been a million miles away. It was over, and there was nothing I could do about it.

* * *

I met her at a bar during my second year at Harvard. I tried my best lines on her, turned on all my charms, even made sure she was more than a little tipsy, and she resisted me. But she couldn't resist fate. We'd run into each other at the coffee shop on campus. I would see her on the street. She asked me to dance when we were at clubs. But she wouldn't go home with me. It wasn't until I sent her roses every day for three solid weeks that she agreed to an actual date, and even then, I wasn't allowed a goodnight kiss.

I chased her for months, fending off other guys, arranging my schedule around hers, and doing anything I could to keep her attention. We went to concerts, we danced and cooked and worked out together. And finally, just when I was beginning to accept that I would forever be her shadow, she let me in.

We were perfect for each other, completing each other's thoughts, sharing the same dreams, and growing into a mature, stable, realistic relationship. We spent time together, yet gave each other space. We grew together, yet remained individuals. We meshed and flowed and simply fit.

I had finally found someone who cared enough to share in my dreams again, someone who appreciated me, someone who wanted a house and a family and a devoted husband. We moved in together just before I started medical school, sharing a cozy little apartment just off campus. My parents paid the rent so I could concentrate on my studies, and I was relieved because I didn't want her to have to work to support herself while I studied and went to class. She occupied her free time with friends and hobbies, and she never once complained that we didn't get enough time together. It would be three years before I found out why.

I had some kind of stomach bug. I'd barely gotten out of bed for three days, and she'd waited on me hand and foot. She kept me hydrated and medicated and resting, all the while smiling sweetly and saying she was glad to do it. But she had a doctor's appointment she couldn't miss, "female stuff" she explained, and I insisted I would fine for an hour or so. Four hours later, I woke up, and she wasn't home. Surprisingly, I was also feeling much better, albeit still weak, and I decided to step outside and get some fresh air for the first time in days. I wasn't feeling one hundred percent yet, so I couldn't go far, but it would be nice to sit in the sun on one of the benches in the little park at the end of the street. Apparently she thought it would be nice, too.

I ran home, drawing on what little strength I had left to carry me swiftly away from the unbelievable scene. She was there, she was smiling, she was pushing a little girl on a swing, and then she was kissing a woman. Not just a peck on the cheek or an oddly affectionate brush across the lips. No, this was _the_ kiss, the kind that inspired poetry and chick flicks, the kind I suddenly realized she'd never shared with me.

I didn't confront her or question her. I didn't beg or yell or throw her out. But the second she walked back in the door and saw me, she knew that I knew. I really didn't want to know anything more, but she forced me to listen anyway. I died a little more with each new detail about the six-year relationship she had with that woman, the child they planned together, the parents who wouldn't understand, and inevitably the ruse she employed, using me to meet society's standards while leaving her heart with someone else.

It was then that I realized that love, the kind of love in movies and books, the kind that people dream about and say they would die for does not actually exist anymore. It went the way of the passenger pigeon, something for the history books and museums, taking all hope for the rest of us with it.


	5. Return of the Native

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **It is not true that suffering ennobles the character; happiness does that sometimes, but suffering, for the most part, makes men petty and vindictive.  
> ** _**~ W. Somerset Maugham**   
> _

**~Edward~**

Packing has got to be the most useless activity there is.  Sure, I needed to pack everything so I could move it here, but it wasn't the least bit rewarding.  To spend so much time putting everything I owned into boxes, just to unpack it a few days later seemed almost pointless.  Mom had suggested letting the movers do it all for me, but I wasn't about to make that mistake again.  When I'd first left for college, I'd taken the easy way out, allowing the moving company to come in and box up everything for me, too.  Not only had I spent days sorting through the boxes (What possessed them to put a shower curtain, a stereo, seven shoes, and an empty McDonald's bag in the same box anyway?), but half my CD collection had gone missing by the time my things reached Boston.  Oh, and I never did find the eighth shoe.

Of course, standing alone in an empty apartment, undoing all the work I'd done just days before, I was almost wishing I'd taken her advice anyway.  CDs could be replaced.  The hours I'd spent going through and bubble-wrapping every single thing I owned couldn't. 

I couldn't get any non-hired help either.  Dad, Emmett, and Jasper were all at work and Mom was at another charity meeting.  The only person available was my sister Alice, and I valued my possessions too much.  It's not that she was clumsy or careless.  In fact, she was quite the opposite.  But her need for fashion and design perfection would demand that most of my belongings end up in the nearest dumpster.  No thanks.

I glanced at the clock.  It was after four, so Dad was probably on his way home.  That meant I could drop by my new job, meet a few people, and make sure my office was ready to move into, all without my father looking over my shoulder.  I was sure everyone already knew I was his son, and if they didn't yet, the last name would be a dead giveaway.  But hopefully I would have a chance to make my own impression first.

I took another look around my new apartment.  It wasn't as large, but it was certainly better than what I'd had in Boston, and for half the price.  Plus, it was across the street from the building where Alice and Emmett lived, so I'd be able to work on that whole mess.

It's not that we didn't get along or had some huge falling out.  I just hadn't been around for a while.  Whereas they had both gone to college in Washington, I'd defected to the East Coast.  And between school, doomed relationships, and my career, the years had slipped by before I realized it.  Of course, I had visited as often as I could, but even that became less and less.  In fact, I hadn't even made it home for a holiday in at several years, and they'd simply taken to flying out to see me when they had a chance.  Seeing them on an everyday basis was going to be nice, but definitely strange.   

* * *

"Dr. Cullen," I repeated.  No wonder she hadn't heard me the first time.  She was too busy looking at me like I was something to eat, and it was beginning to get on my nerves. 

"Cullen, you say?  Did you know we have another Dr. Cullen here?"

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.  "Yes, that would be my father," I said, allowing a bit of my irritation to seep into my tone. 

"Oh," she said, clearly intimidated by my foul humor.  

She hit some keys on the computer and stared at the screen for a minute as if she had never seen it before.  Incredible.  For an emergency room nurse, even if she was only at the reception desk, she had no sense of urgency.

"Do you need some help with that?" I asked in my most condescending tone.

"No...ah...I think I have it, sir...Doctor.  Yes, it looks like your office will be just down this hall here and to your left.  Right next door to Dr. Cullen.  Ah...the other Dr. Cullen.  I can show you if you like."

"That won't be necessary," I replied, already walking away. 

"Eddie, my boy!" Dad exclaimed the second he saw me.  Unfortunately, he had an entourage of other doctors with him who would now be thinking ‘boy' instead of ‘colleague' every time they saw me.  A nurse pushing a cart toward them turned to look back at me but didn't stop. 

I'd come in late in the afternoon, hoping he'd be too busy or maybe gone for the day.  No such luck.  I put on my best ‘happy son' smile and walked over to them.

"Hi, Dad," I said.

"Gentlemen," he said, "This is my son Eddie."

"Edward," I corrected.

"Edward," he conceded.  "And he's on track to become one of the finest surgeons in the state."

"That right, son?" asked one of the doctors, a short balding man who kept fiddling with his badge.

Wonderful.  I wasn't ‘Eddie' anymore.  Now I was just ‘son.'  "I don't know about all that, but I'll give it my best," I said, trying to keep my tone light.  I might get away with talking down to the nurses, but that would never fly with my new colleagues.  And certainly not my father.

I stood there for a moment, feeling their appraisal and judgment, their wondering if I'd live up to my old man's name or if I was just going to ride his coattails as long as I could. "Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to get things set up in my office."

Their curious looks were puzzling until I realized that no one else this fresh on the job would have had his own office on his first day...not like this one anyway.  A cubicle, maybe, or a glorified storage closet off the floor if he was lucky, but not an room actually intended as an office, complete with a door and a window and a nameplate.  _Thanks a lot Dad.  Now I'm definitely under scrutiny._

At least it wasn't too large.  The generic beige walls and Berber carpet were practically sleep-inducing, and the old metal desk was nothing to brag about.  I had a row of short file cabinets beneath a long window overlooking...was that the parking garage?  Well, I definitely had an office, but I doubted anyone would be very envious.  I sat down in the faux leather chair behind the desk.  It squeaked. 

Now, where to start?  It looked like everything had already been emptied and wiped down.  I immediately regretted having not brought my things in.  I'd expected to have a little cleanup to do, maybe some of the previous inhabitant's knickknacks to throw away, some furniture to move around or even dig up out of storage.  But clearly that had all been taken care of.  I sighed. 

I needed to do something to improve my mood.  Moving here is what I wanted, I reminded myself.  So why did I feel so empty?  Time to call Emmett.

He answered on the first ring.  "Hey baby bro!"

"I don't suppose you'd accept money to stop calling me that?" I asked.

"Not a chance, Eddie."

I groaned.  That nickname was worse. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I came in to check out my office today, but there's not really anything to do.  Wanna get a drink?"

"Can't, dude.  Alice is bugging me to go to some new place with her.  Big prices, little portions, crappy music.  You know how she is."

That I did.  Our sister was a force of nature, and when her demands weren't met, she simply pouted until she got her way.  She wasn't spoiled, per se.  She was just very, very, _very_ persuasive. 

"That's okay, man.  Maybe next time," I said.  Now what was I supposed to do?  Half the point of moving home was to be near my family, but on my first full day back they already had plans without me.  I supposed it shouldn't have been a surprise though.  I'd been gone for nearly ten years.  And I did have a lot of unpacking to do.

"Hey, why don't you join us? Jasper's coming, and Bella, too," he offered.

"Who's Bella?" I asked.  If he was trying to push another one of his cast-offs on me, I was definitely staying in tonight.  Emmett had a tendency to attract crazy women.  Crazy, as in clinically insane.  And once they found out he came from money, they were damn near impossible to get rid of.  I'd dealt with a few borderline stalkers myself, and I was in no mood to go through that mess again.   

 "Neighbor girl," Emmett said.  "She's real sweet."

"I don't think you and I have the same definition of sweet, Em," I said, remembering the last ‘sweet' girl he'd tried to set me up with.  She had been sweet for about the first fifteen drinks.  Then she got a little loud, a bit violent, and somehow or another she wound up pointing a gun at us.  Emmett was able to talk her down, so to speak, but I vowed then and there never to go near another woman he was cruel enough to set me up with

"No, man, she's not like that.  I would _never_ go for her." Coming from Emmett, that was actually a compliment. "She's too nice.  And she cooks.  She works at a bookstore, and she hangs with us a lot ‘cause she lives alone."

I wanted to ask more, like how many cats did she have and were the kids in the neighborhood afraid of her, but I knew Emmett.  The description I'd just gotten was about as detailed as he was capable of.

"Okay, but on one condition," I said.

"Sure, wingman, anything."

"It's not a date.  I don't need you hooking me up with some frumpy librarian.  I can manage just fine on my own, and I don't need your spinster friend getting in my way if I meet someone."

That got a good laugh out of him, but he agreed.  I had a brief flashback of the whole gun thing, but shook it off.  I knew I'd be bored out of my mind if I stayed in, and I really needed to get laid.


	6. Resurrection

**...'tis misfortune that awakens ingenuity, or fortitude, or endurance, in hearts where these qualities had never come to life but for the circumstance which gave them a being.**   
**_~William Makepeace Thackeray_ **

**~Bella~**  
  
It had started about a year after the night Emmett had kicked in my door and beaten James to a pulp, and it had gotten exponentially worse after Alice found Jasper, a.k.a. her 'soul mate.' Alice and I would go somewhere, and a not-so-random guy would just happen to show up. The first couple of times I wrote it off as an unfortunate coincidence. But after about a dozen of these encounters, I'd called her out on it. She didn't bother to deny it and, worse yet, she refused to stop. So for the past four years I'd been awkwardly making excuses, giving out fake phone numbers, and feigning headaches to avoid the seemingly unending supply of single male friends Alice had collected.  
  
I shot a look at Alice, but her expression was the epitome of innocence. I couldn't tell if it was an act or not, so I went with not. "How could you?" I whispered angrily, knowing better than to expect an answer.  
  
She shrugged and smiled, and I turned back to the stranger. His hand was still held out to me.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, hastily reaching to shake his hand. In my rush, I bumped my wine glass, nearly tipping it over, but Emmett caught it just in time, only a few red drops splashing against the crisp tablecloth. He smirked and nodded in the direction of the man sitting next to me.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said again. I sounded like a damned parrot. "I didn't know anyone was joining us." I didn't want to be rude, but I wanted to make it more than clear that I had had nothing to do with any of this.  
  
Jasper coughed and Alice shifted uncomfortably beside me. A flash of something I couldn't identify shot through the stranger's incredibly green eyes, but he quickly regained his composure and smiled.  
  
'I'm Edward," he said.  
  
He looked down at our still joined hands, and I blushed, dropping my hold instantly. I instantly missed the electrified heat of his touch. Emmett choked on his beer. How long had I been holding his hand? His beautiful, masculine hand… I gave myself a mental shake, bringing myself back to the reality that this was a set up, and I should be irritated. And, boy was I irritated.  
"It's nice to meet you," I said in spite of my annoyance. They'd all been in on this. Alice, Jasper, and Emmett had dragged me all the way across town just to trap me in a booth with a man I didn't know, and I'd had just about enough. I would politely endure the rest of the evening, but I would not be playing into their hands again. I'd simply become a hermit, leaving my apartment for work and groceries only. Or maybe I could just have my groceries delivered. Do stores even do that anymore? And if Alice wanted to pound on my door daily, that was her problem.  
  
"I've heard a lot about you," he said, carrying forward with our clichéd introduction.  
  
"Really?" I asked, sneaking another look at my "friends." I should have known better. Emmett just grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Seriously? The eyebrow thing? I considered overturning my wine, on purpose and right in his lap this time, but I had the feeling he'd just make me pay for it ten-fold.  
  
"Yes," Edward said. "I hear you're one of Alice's shopping victims."  
  
Okay, I'd have to be dead not to laugh at that one. Having been subjected to five years worth of Alice's insane shopping excursions, I was definitely what you'd call a victim. And I could add matchmaking to the list of her crimes against me as well.  
Before long, Edward and I were chatting comfortably while Alice and Jasper took a few turns on the tiny dance floor. Emmett had long since disappeared, having spotted what I had to admit was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. If I'd been looking to hook up tonight, the mere sight of her would have had me mentally tallying the price of plastic surgery. She was that stunning. And so was the man I was talking to.  
  
He had that artfully disheveled look, the kind some people spend hours in front of the mirror trying to achieve. Maybe that was his major flaw…two hours in the bathroom with a gallon of hair gel before going out in public. His dark hair seemed to have a bit of a bronze tint to it, and I couldn't tell if it was real or just a result of the warm lighting. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled up, leaving nothing to be seen except that piercing green, brighter than I would have thought possible. Probably spent thousands on that smile. His laugh was gentle, quietly rumbling in his chest and doing everything to accentuate his glorious pecs. Dammit! I had to hand it to Alice. Even if this guy turned out to be a complete ass, he was fun to look at. Yes, folks, I believe we have a winner. The genetic lottery goes to Edward.  
  
Fortunately, conversation with him was easy and relaxed, even the little moments of silence feeling natural and not at all awkward. Without realizing it, I'd begun telling him more about myself than anyone really needed to know, and it never dawned on me until later that he spoke very little about his own life. We were getting along swimmingly until he leaned toward me, his voice low, and asked, "So tell me, Bella. Are you seeing anyone?"  
  
Of course I had to panic. A rational woman would have simply answered the question and found out where it led her. But Bella Swan, walking disaster, had to analyze it to death. I couldn't date him. Maybe I could sleep with him…maybe. But I couldn't date him. Dating would mean feelings and commitments and all the things I was doing just fine without. But how does someone go about asking for sex? Hey, I know we just met, but you're really hot, and I was wondering if you'd help me out because I know I'm destined to be alone, but I want to have sex before I die. Ummmm…no. Definitely not the way to go. I guessed I should just stick with the whole no dating thing and deal with it.  
  
His eyes sparkled with hope, but I had no place in my life for expectations. Expectations are pointless. They let you down. They hurt.  
  
"I don't date," I said, trying to sound polite but unwavering.  
  
He looked surprised, but undeterred. "And why is that?" he asked with a smirk.  
  
"I'm just not interested," I replied.  
  
"I see," he said. He looked like he was about to say something else, and I really wasn't in the mood to explain myself, so I chose that moment to make my escape to the ladies room. I needed a minute to collect myself anyhow. I was getting along with him way too well, and my practical mind was screaming with resistance.

* * *

I splashed some water on my face, hoping Alice wouldn't kill me for removing the thin layer of powder she'd insisted on applying. Looking in the mirror, I took stock of myself. I looked tired, and I suppose I was.  
  
Mrs. Schaeffer, who owned the bookstore I managed hadn't been doing well lately, and it had fallen to me to take on more than just my normal responsibilities at work. I'd also been checking in on her regularly, helping her with laundry, cleaning, and meals. She had no family that I knew of, and the homecare nurse the hospital had sent her home with couldn't keep up with everything on her own. I was down to about five hours of sleep a night, not counting the three nights I'd spent at the hospital when she'd first suffered her mini-stroke. It had been a long couple of weeks, and all I really wanted to do was go home and crash.  
  
I pushed my hair out of my face and washed my hands, then pulled the heavy door to go back, hoping I could convince Alice to call it a night. I couldn't help but wish I'd thought to drive myself. At least then I could have left without argument. I stepped back into the dark hallway, carefully keeping my eyes on the floor so as not to take one of my famous falls when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, expecting Alice or Emmett, maybe Japer, or even the chiseled perfection that was Edward. But there in front of me stood James, as handsome as ever.  
  
My hand flew to my mouth as I gasped in surprise. I instinctively stepped back, gracelessly colliding with the wall behind me and stumbling in my impossibly high heels. Just as my nose was about to smash into the floor, my arm was caught in his strong grip, and I was pulled to my feet.  
  
"James!" I choked out, half saddened, half terrified. He let go of my arm, and I absently rubbed the spot where his fingers had curled around to stop my fall. His touch had been gentle, not at all like in my nightmares, and my mind didn't know how to react.  
  
His eyes were…understanding. "You look beautiful," he said quietly.  
  
"I—I didn't expect…What are you doing here?" I asked.  
  
"If I said 'Hoping to see you,' would that be too weird?" he asked with a tentative smile.  
  
What was I supposed to say to that? Yes, it was weird. It was weird and creepy and surreal. My heart ached and my thoughts raged.  
  
"I'm sorry, Bella," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was really just here to apply for a job. I tried calling you, but I guess you have a different number now?"  
  
I stood there, staring mutely at him. He was out? Why hadn't I been notified? Why was he being so…nice? He looked older, but that made sense considering how long it had been. His long dark blond hair had been cut close, and he'd shaved recently, something he never did on a regular basis before. His face was the same, a little thinner, maybe, but his eyes…his eyes looked so much older than I remembered.  
  
"Anyway," he continued, "I'd really like to talk to you sometime…if you want to, of course. I understand if you don't. I'm listed, so you can just call me if…you know…"  
  
He looked like he wanted to hug me or something, but his gaze fell on my hand, still rubbing the spot where he'd touched me, and he must have thought better of it. "Okay, then, maybe I'll see you around."  
  
I stood there, frozen in place, as he walked away. When reached the end of the hall, he turned, his eyes meeting mine, silently voicing a thousand regrets, and then he disappeared into the oblivious crowd.

* * *

"There she is," Jasper announced playfully as I returned to our table. He and Alice had apparently returned from their dancing to keep Edward company.  
  
"And here we were taking bets," Alice added.  
  
"Bets?" I asked, still a little stunned. Edward had risen so I could slide back into the booth, but I didn't move. I just stood at the edge of the table.  
  
"Yes," Edward said. "The consensus was that you'd crawled out a window and made your escape." He hit me with that crooked smile again, but this time I didn't feel it.  
  
"Escape…" I echoed. I felt like I was in a fog, the voices around me muffled.  
  
"Are you okay?" Edward asked, the expression on his perfect face changing quickly from amusement to concern.  
  
"Yes," I answered without thinking. "I have to go home."  
  
They all stared at me for a few uncomfortable seconds, but then Alice, true to form, came to my rescue.  
  
"You and your bedtime, Bella. I swear I'll keep you out past ten one of these days, and you'll enjoy it!" she laughed.  
  
It was clear Jasper didn't understand, but to his credit he played along. "I'm sorry, Eddie, but we do have to get her back before she turns into a pumpkin."  
  
Jasper and Alice slid out of the booth while I stared at my feet, suddenly fascinated by my own toes. Edward stepped forward, as if to walk us out, but I cut him off.  
  
"It was nice meeting you," I said flatly.  
  
"Ah…yeah," he muttered.  
  
I hurried outside, where Alice and I waited while Jasper tracked down Emmett.  
  
"Did something happen?" Alice asked me. Damn her and her crazy ability to read me.  
  
"No, I'm just tired," I said.  
  
I knew it was a weak excuse, and she knew I was lying, but she didn't press the issue. And after a tensely quiet ride home, I craved nothing more than my soft, warm bed.


End file.
